


Not Yet

by jillyfae



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Comfort, F/F, Romance, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-10
Updated: 2015-04-10
Packaged: 2018-03-22 03:57:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3714064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jillyfae/pseuds/jillyfae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Easing burdens, one night at a time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Yet

**Author's Note:**

  * For [smithy_of_words](https://archiveofourown.org/users/smithy_of_words/gifts).



Hawke stands too still. The spread of her shoulders is wrong, too tight and stiff.

She worries so.

They all do, of course, Aveline and her guards, Varric and his stories, all her neighbors in the Alienage, tucking down quiet and tight as if for winter. Even Isabela's laugh grows darker, slower, day by day. They wait and they share stories at Varric's table, keeping each other company as Kirkwall tenses around them.

But for Hawke, it's different.

She seems to think she can stop it, somehow, can catch the wind when it shifts, if only she can figure it out before it finally turns.

It is late, and the sky is still dark, lingering clouds and smoke and soot blocking what few stars are sometimes bright enough to shine, even here in Hightown. And yet Hawke stands beneath that sky, hands resting on the railing of her balcony, head tilted back, as if she could see something, find something, far above them, hiding within the different shades of grey and black.

As if seeing it would mean she could grasp it, pull it down, _save them all._

" _Ma vhenan,_ " Merrill whispers, and lets her fingers rest against Hawke's shoulder, as light a touch as she can manage. "Come inside."

Hawke's head bows, tilts away for a moment, and Merrill can feel the ache in her chest, a tremble she dares not let reach her hands as she wonders what she could say next.

_It is not here yet, whatever is coming. Please, please, not yet._

But then Hawke's shoulders finally ease, and she turns, the flicker of light from the banked fire in her rooms catching against her eyes as she smiles, at last.

"Thank you, Merrill."

"For what?" Merrill lets her arm slide down until she can catch Hawke's fingers in her own, and pull her gently back inside.

"For taking such good care of my heart." Hawke lifts her free hand, lets her fingers trail down Merrill's cheek. She leans forward, and Merrill stretches up to meet her, the slightest brush of lips together, warmer and softer than the cooling night air, before Merrill falls back to rest on her heels.

She takes a step back, head tilting, waiting to see if there's more Hawke needs to help her turn away from the answers she seeks in the sky, the storm she is trying to find, before it breaks.

But Hawke's eyes are clear, her mouth still half-smiling, and she follows easily, softly, all the way to the bed.

* * *

Merrill's nose is cold.

She sneezes, and pulls her blankets up over her head.

Her toes curl, as the air against them makes her shiver.

There is a grunt, more breath than sound, catching against her neck, and fingers tuck against her stomach, pulling her close, until the breath against her skin turns into a voice, almost words, grumbling and rough.

She blinks.

The light is grey, too dim for how late it feels, based on the ache between her shoulders and the weight of her bones.

Too dim to be morning, really, too dim to be awake at all.

She blinks again, feels Hawke's arm tighten around her, feels the edges of the blanket trail against her ankles, all tangled and twisted until it cannot quite cover her completely.

She shivers again, and tries to tuck her feet up higher, or kick the blanket lower, and the grumbles turn into a laugh, a stutter of breath against her spine. "Shhh," Hawke whispers, and Merrill twists about, though she's unsure if she's planning to stick her tongue out in protest or tuck her face up against Hawke's chest, _really an excellent place to be, after all, and so warm,_ but then Hawke moves too, away and down and there's cold air _everywhere._

"Fen'harel's _teeth,_ " Merril swears, but before she can manage more Hawke is back, and there's an extra blanket, and the heat of her skin everywhere, and the weight of well-fluffed feathers, and Merrill sighs, instead, and smiles against the dark thick strands of Hawke's hair as she pulls the quilt over their heads.

"There," Hawke whispers. "Much better."

"We'll have to get up eventually." Merrill closes her eyes, lets her fingers find the curve of Hawke's shoulder, the clean line of her collar bone, traces the shape of her in the dark, until Hawke shivers, and catches Merrill's hand in her own firm grip, brushes a kiss against her fingertips before letting go.

"But not quite yet."

"No, not quite yet." Merrill agrees as she shifts closer, follows Hawke's voice, opens her eyes and lets her nose find the curve of Hawke's cheek.

Hawke jumps at the cold, and then she laughs, soft and breathless, and turns her head to drop a kiss on the tip of Merrill's nose. "Certainly not til I've warmed you up."

Her toes are cold as they slide against Merrill's legs, but her breath is warm against Merrill's skin, and her fingers catch and pull on Merrill's hair as she tugs her close, and it does not take long at all to feel warm, heat with each beat of her heart, beneath her skin, warmth in every moment Hawke touches her, the soft slide of fingers, of lips and whispered words, half human, half elvish, _ma vhenan, arasha, my heart, my happiness,_ until there are no words at all, no world to worry about beyond the grip of Hawke's hands, and the taste of her skin, her sweat, her slick. Nothing left but the curve of her spine and the lift of her hips and the heat building between them, until Merrill can feel the very beat of Hawke's heart through her chest, the catch of Hawke's voice in her throat, and her own body aches with wanting.

More, and more, too much and not enough until, at last, Hawke's body goes taut, and her face goes still, and it is beautiful, _she is beautiful, my love, ma lath,_ and there is one last shift of her body, and Merrill's eyes close as her breath dies and her body breaks and it is perfect, _perfect,_ a shimmer of light and heat and skin, and Hawke sighs against her shoulder, and Merrill feels the shiver down her spine, through her chest, and it is only a breath or two more before they settle, before they ease, body and breath and hearts, though she does not let go of Hawke's hand.

They are warm, and safe, and they fall asleep again, hair snarled and fingers tangled and bodies pressed together.


End file.
